Total pages in book: 172
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Sevastyan’s eyes met Ania’s in the rearview mirror just for a moment. He flicked his gaze toward the right, away from the freeway and back toward Prune Lane.
“Cain? Why would he be a problem?” His hand settled around Flambé’s nape to begin a slow massage, attempting to ease the tension out of her.
“The plants are for his club, his garden of paradise. They’re exotics and we’ve been waiting for some time for them to come in. It hasn’t been easy to get them. I have to have an open time to go to the club when no one is there. He doesn’t shut down that often. Coordinating our schedules isn’t that easy, but this situation is ridiculous.”
“Tell me about his garden. The garden started fairly small although the room itself is huge.” He kept her talking to distract her, although he genuinely wanted to know.
“He wanted the garden to be really large but still allow everyone to see into the rooms on either side of it. I had to design the plants and trees to grow so that could be done. In keeping with his themes, I incorporate his apparatuses as much as possible for the plants to grow on. That lets me prune them back and tie them so they grow the way I need them to. I just had a smaller version of a wooden X brought in to plant some of the exotics to grow up and over. It should be quite lovely.”
Her voice held both intimate and enthusiastic notes when she spoke of her plants and the garden. It was a huge undertaking and very private between her and Cain, the owner of the club. For the first time in his life, Sevastyan felt the stirrings of jealousy and it was an ugly, demeaning emotion. He didn’t like to picture her in Cain’s office, close to him, leaning over the man’s desk, both poring over the papers she had drawn out, that sensual, intimate note in her voice as she talked about her plants and ideas and how to incorporate his various sexual apparatuses. He didn’t want Flambé talking to Cain about anything sexual, let alone an apparatus.
“Did Cain ever offer to show you how those apparatuses work?”
“Yes, but I declined. I wasn’t interested in anything but rope. That was beautiful and sensual.”
“Did he offer to tie you? He is a rigger. A very good one and a master in suspension.” They were coming up on Prune Lane. Ania had slowed the car as if she suspected another ambush.
Just the thought of Cain tying Flambé and suspending her in an erotic pose made him want to rip out Cain’s heart. He had never been that kind of man. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t possessive. He certainly didn’t care what other man a woman wanted after he tied her in a pose. If she wanted fifty other men, she was welcome to them. Not Flambé. She was his alone and hopefully he had made that very, very clear to her.
She nodded. “He did. By that time, I think I already was obsessed with you. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“Cain has many women to choose from, malen’koye plamya. You have no need to feel guilty or that you may have hurt his feelings. He owns a club and he’s very good at what he does. Women flock to him.”
He risked a quick glance at the setup. Everyone was in place. Once again, his eyes met Ania’s in the mirror and the car began to move forward with more confidence. Behind them the SUV pulled close, the Porsche behind it. The other two vehicles were nowhere in sight, which meant they’d taken the bait and rushed around to cut them off using the alleyway. His body stirred the way it always did in times of danger. He craved the rush. He needed it.
He caught Flambé’s chin and tipped her face up to his to take possession of her mouth. He loved her mouth. It was a hot haven of promised sin. She looked like an angel and kissed like she was Satan’s accomplice. Whiskey couldn’t burn that hot down his throat. Nothing could. She poured herself into him without reservation, without hesitation. He knew if he unbuttoned that prim little blouse she wore and put his mouth to her breast she would cradle his head to her and offer more.
Flambé tasted like hot cinnamon spiced with just the lightest hint of Moroccan rose and Egyptian jasmine. The moment he tasted that on his tongue, he wanted to rip off her panties, press his mouth between her legs and devour her to get at her unique flavor. He had to stop. He’d gone too long without her and he couldn’t start anything, not until this was over.